The Price of Fortune
by arseydarcy
Summary: A single man, burdened with the responsibility of a large fortune, has neither time nor inclination to seek a wife. Will Darcy, struggling to guide the Pemberley fortune towards better days and anxious over his sister's well-being, joins his friend Bingley at Netherfield with little expectation of distracting himself from his concerns. That is, until he meets one Elizabeth Bennet.
1. Chapter 1

**The price of fortune**

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife._

William Darcy groaned as he deleted the message and tossed his phone back onto the desk. He watched with detached amusement as it skidded across the paper-strewn surface and disappeared out of sight, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. If only all his problems could be so easily taken care of.

Sighing, he got up and strode around the desk, bending to pick up the phone. Examining the device – it appeared to have survived the fall - he smiled ruefully. The issues in his own life were far more prone to damage. His smile faded, and he tossed the phone into the air and caught it, clutching it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

"Will?"

The familiar voice of his sister jolted him from his increasingly bitter thoughts.

"Georgie, I thought you were in bed." He checked his watch, and winced. When did it get _that_ late?

She gave him a frank look. "At this hour, even _you_ should be in bed, big brother." She padded over to him, her bare feet slapping on the wooden floor of their library, and slipped one arm around his waist.

"Come on."

When he didn't move, she looked up quizzically. "What gives, bro?"

He rolled his eyes – she knew he hated her using slang – and waved the hand with his phone still in it. "Another gentle hint from our dearest aunt."

Her frown melted into a mocking smile. "Let me guess. Find a girl, get married, start a family?"

Nodding, he allowed her to pull him a few steps towards the door, draping one arm across her shoulders. "Mostly. Of course, as far as the girl goes, she clearly has one in mind."

His sister affected a look of innocent surprise. "Why, you can't mean _Anne_, can you?"

Smiling despite his tiredness, he moved slowly across the library floor, his sister still insistent.

Aunt Catherine was nothing if not determined, and since she had become reacquainted with a distant relative of hers, Anne de Bourgh, had been bringing up the poor woman's name with alarming regularity. The latest ploy had been these late night messages culled from the pages of various dusty old tomes, all on the subject of marriage.

At first it had been amusing, but as the months wore on, it just got - wearisome. It wouldn't have been so bad, he mused, if Anne de Bourgh had been an attractive prospect for alliance. Granted, she had inherited the Rosings Park hotel group, but her personal attributes were somewhat - limited.

Georgie summed it up more succinctly. "If that girl were any more stupid, she'd be a turnip," she said as they made their wending way between the library stacks.

"Georgie," he said warningly, but smiled nevertheless. He looked down fondly at his little sister, almost ten years his junior. It was good to see her in such good spirits. For a moment, she had almost sounded like her old self, before-

"You're frowning again," Georgie said, her own expression mirroring his. "What's really bothering you?"

He shook his head, his arm tightening around hers. She was safe now, and that was all that mattered. "Oh, just work," he said in as airy a manner as possible.

She stopped and looked up at him, her blue eyes clouding over. "Will, are you thinking about-" Her voice trailed off, her expression stricken.

"Of course not," he lied smoothly, steering her towards the door. "It's this damn recession, that's all. Makes every decision so much more complicated."

She nodded slowly, but lapsed into silence, her fleeting good mood vanished.

He made no attempt to console her, but kept her close to his side as they walked down the long hallway to the main staircase. He could feel her delicate fingers digging into his side as she clung to him, and his already troubled mood darkened further.

When would they ever be free of that man?

~PoF~

The next day saw him once again at his desk, his mood no less sour. He glowered at the papers on his desk, covered with his neat handwritten notes. This was impossible. He turned to his computer and clicked open another file, examining the cost projections once more. It was no use.

He picked up the phone and dialled his portfolio manager. "Nick? Will here. Look, I've spent the weekend looking over the figures for the Berlin project, and it's as bad as we feared."

Rubbing his eyes he listened to the other man. "No, that won't work. It's haemorrhaging money that the division can't stand. There's no choice, I'm afraid."

His expression hardened. "Do you think I don't know that? It may have been my father's pet project, but I'm not going to lay off any more employees to keep it alive."

Looking down, he could see his free hand shaking with tension. Frowning he stilled it, and spoke more evenly. "We have to consolidate Nick, as you well know. I've made my mind up. Cut it. Today."

After exchanging a few more terse words, he slammed the phone down and sat back, breathing hard. Springing out of his chair, he cast around for some inanimate object to take out his frustrations on, but unfortunately the furniture in the library had been designed with longevity in mind.

He eyed the massive desk speculatively. If he took a swing at that, he'd be nursing much worse than a pounding headache.

Muttering stormily, he flung open the French doors and swept out into the sunny morning. As he crunched down the gravel pathway his feet sent angry spits of stone in all directions, but his mind slowly calmed.

By the time he had made his way down across the wide expanse of lawn to the tennis courts, he was feeling somewhat better, in body if not in mind. He stopped and turned, surveying the great house.

Back in the nineteenth century, the master of Pemberley would have had only the house, grounds and estate to concern themselves with. Over successive generations, the Darcy fortune had grown to encompass a diverse portfolio of investments and enterprises across the globe.

His own father had been a major influence on the expansion of their influence in more recent years. Widely regarded as a financial genius as well as an astute operator and a generous benefactor, John Darcy had left a formidable legacy to preserve and a challenge that his son frequently felt unequal to.

Will felt his face flush with displeasure as he recalled his most recent decision. In the five years since his father's sudden and unexpected death, the global financial markets had suffered a setback that not even the great John Darcy could have anticipated. The Darcy fortune had weathered the storm better than many, but he had been faced with a seemingly unending series of increasingly painful decisions to be made.

The Berlin project, exploring ways of generating clean energy from deep borehole technology, had been his father's great hope for a lasting legacy. Unfortunately, the costs had so far outweighed the results that Will had no choice but to mothball it, in the hopes of better times to come.

Deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do. If he were forced to roll up the entire renewable energy division the job losses would be extreme. Just as his ancestors had a responsibility to the Pemberley workers, he had to preserve the livelihoods of those he employed.

"Hope you agree, Dad," he said to the house. It made no reply.

Sighing, he turned and continued towards the tennis courts. As expected, Georgie was there, practising her groundstrokes. He watched her for a moment, smiling. Moment like these gave him hope that Georgie was truly well on the way to recovery. He fervently hoped so.

Georgie caught sight of him and jogged over to the machine, turning it off. "Hey Will," she shouted, waving cheerily. She bounded over to him, her blond hair bobbing in a neat pony tail.

Extending her tennis racket like a rapier, she waggled it near his face. "Come to test your mettle, have you?"

He snorted. "Georgie, when was the last time you actually beat me at tennis?"

She considered for a moment. "True. But you've been stuck in the library, counting beans, while I've been honing my skills out here." She grinned and prodded him gently in the stomach with the racket.

"Besides you're old and flabby, whereas I am young and-"

"Overconfident?"

"I was going for hot, actually," she said, tossing her head prettily. "Anyway, got time for a set or two?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to turn her down – the phone in his pocket was buzzing insistently – but something in her countenance gave him pause. She looked happy enough, but the shadows under her eyes told him that their conversation of the night before had left its toll.

He took the phone out, and eyed her speculatively. "Well, let's see how well you return this."

Without pausing, he lobbed the phone towards her, watching in admiration as she sent the phone high over the chain-link fence with one smooth stroke. Resisting the urge to chase after it, he rolled up his sleeves and headed for the bank of rackets.

"Okay, little sister. Let's see what you can do ."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Will cursed as he glanced at his watch, and pressed the accelerator pedal harder. The Porsche responded instantly, the sleek sports car hurtling along the winding road, headlights briefly illuminating the signpost that flashed by.

_Netherfield Hall, 3 miles._

Swearing again, he slammed on the brakes and the car lost speed almost as quickly as it had gained it. A horn blared behind him and a battered Landrover swerved around his car, perilously close to his wing mirror. He had just enough time to see the indignant face of a dark-haired young woman mouthing something that he was glad he couldn't hear, before the ancient vehicle roared up the road, still weaving from side to side.

He shook his head. "Guess that's what passes for a polite greeting round these parts," he said to the empty road. Then he flung the car into reverse and took the side road to Netherfield.

Bingley was waiting impatiently by the side of his Bentley when he finally pulled up outside the large mansion house.

"You're late," he said with mock disapproval.

Habitually, Will glanced at his watch. "Hardly," he snorted. "Besides, what did you expect, wanting me to meet you," he looked around, "here?"

"Hertfordshire is not the moon, Darcy," Bingley said, rather peevishly in Will's opinion. "It's a damn sight closer to London than Derbyshire, for a start."

Will bristled. "Too close for my liking. Cows and commuters, that's all you get here. No real culture."

The two men regarded each other. Bingley cracked first, grinning as he flung a brotherly arm around the taller man. Darcy shoved him back, smiling in return.

"None of your excessive displays of emotion, if you please Bingley."

"Robot."

"Clown."

"Misanthrope."

Will cocked an eyebrow. "Misanthrope?"

Bingley's grin widened. "Contrary to popular belief when we were at Cambridge, I do actually read you know."

"The only reading I remember you doing was my lecture notes."

"True," Bingley said without a trace of shame. "But your handwriting is just so neat."

Will looked at his old friend with affection. "You look well, Charles. It's been too long."

Bingley nodded. "We've both been busy." He paused. "How is Georgie, by the way?"

Will felt the smile melt from his face. "The same," he said quietly. "Good days, bad days." He looked steadily at Bingley. "More good than bad, recently."

"That's great news," Bingley said sincerely. "The best."

Kicking the tire of his dust-covered Porsche, Will looked out over the fields as the sun waned. A few miles off, he could see the twinkling lights of what appeared to be a farm of some sorts, but apart from that there was no sign of life.

He glanced over at his friend. Bingley was also pretending to admire the view, giving his friend a moment to compose himself. Will felt a fierce surge of loyalty affection for his old schoolmate. Apart from his cousin Fitz, Charles Bingley was the only man who knew the full details of Georgie's ordeal last summer, and the only other man Will knew he could trust to look after his sister.

Moving to stand beside the other man, Will nudged him with one elbow. "So why did I have to drop everything and come out here?"

Eyes twinkling, Bingley took his friend gently by the shoulders and turned him around to face the large house. "Behold," he stated grandly, "my new home."

Will felt his jaw drop. "You haven't."

Bingley nodded smugly, a childish grin of excitement spreading across his face. "I have."

Taking in the size of the mansion house, Will groaned. "Charles, what on earth were you thinking?"

Bingley shifted, looking affronted. "Okay, it's no Pemberley, but still-"

"You know that's not what I meant. Are you sure you're ready for all this?"

Looking around happily, Bingley nodded vigorously, rubbing his hands together. "A country house? Just what I need to settle me down a bit."

_Settle me down?_ Will looked curiously at his friend. Was he thinking of putting down some roots?

Ever since they had left university, Charles Bingley had moved relentlessly and aimlessly from place to place, never staying anywhere more than a few months. The nomadic lifestyle suited his gregarious friend. He stayed long enough to make a wide range of new acquaintances, declare himself in love with some delightful local woman, then move on.

There were plenty of times that Will, locked in never-ending business meetings in London, envied his friend's freedom. Ironically, whilst he had inherited Pemberley, up until recently he had spent very little time there.

Very little time with Georgie.

Both of those things had changed after last summer. He had moved his sister and his personal office back to Pemberley, and done his best not to leave either for any reason since. After all, he could work from anywhere.

He patted his jacket pocket, reassured that his replacement phone was still there. Fitz had happily installed himself at Pemberley, and insisted that he was perfectly happy to stay there for the entire two months of his leave. For some reason, his cousin seemed to think it was a good idea for him to take a break, and even Georgie had appeared to agree.

"You understand," Will said carefully, "that a county house means country neighbours? With country manners."

Bingley pulled a face. "We can't all have your fine sensibilities, Will. I happen to like the locals already."

Will narrowed his eyes. "Have you met them yet?"

"Well, not officially, " Bingley admitted. He looked embarrassed, then brightened. "But I do hear that the Bennets over there have some rather attractive daughters."

Following his pointing hand, Will looked at the farm buildings, only two or three miles away. "Not another farmer's daughter, Charles, I beg you."

His friend laughed, and clapped him on the back without answering. "Come on Darcy old boy, let me show you my new pad."

Shaking his head in mock dismay, Will followed his friend up the stairs to the front door.

~PoF~

Five days later, Will sat looking out of the drawing room window, sipping tea whilst checking his email. His breakfast sat uneaten on the table as he tapped out a brief reply to the latest financial forecast report. Although it was too soon to tell for sure, it seemed that the decisive action that Pemberley Investment had taken, at his insistence, had saved the company from serious trouble.

Allowing himself a moment of pride at his swift decision-making, he sat back and took in the view.

In truth, Netherfield Hall was a well-situated house with extensive grounds. He smiled. Typically, despite his protestations of giving the matter very little thought, Charles had made an astute choice. Only a few days had seen the house staff vacancies filled, the estate stewards briefed and the entire estate bustling once more with activity.

His smile faltered somewhat. Unfortunately, as soon as the practicalities were taken care of, Charles had immediately moved on to the scheme of hosting a housewarming party and inviting all the locals. The happy event was to be held this evening, and Will was giving serious thought to feigning a sudden onset of some debilitating illness.

Glancing down at the rapidly cooling breakfast, he pushed the plate away with a grimace, standing and stretching. He closed the lid on his laptop and tucked it under one arm whilst walking to the nearest outside door.

Once outside in the cool morning air, he took a deep breath. After all, it was just a party. Just because the last party he and Georgie had attended had led, inadvertently, to the events of last summer, didn't mean-

His phone rang, and he answered. "I was just thinking about you."

Georgie's cheerful voice sounded amused. "Liar."

"It's true," he protested. "I wish you were here."

She fell silent, and he mentally kicked himself. "Sorry."

Georgie's voice sounded brittle. "It's okay Will. How are things? How's Charles?"

Forcing himself to sound lively, he said, "Bingley's fine. Same as ever, really."

"Tell him I said hi, and that I miss my other brother."

"I see," Will said lightly. "And what about your actual brother?"

He had meant it as a joke, but Georgie replied seriously. "You know I miss you, but the doctor says-"

"I know," Will said hurriedly. "I miss you too though." He sighed. "I wish you were here to slow Bingley down a bit."

"What's he up to?"

"Oh," Will said evasively, thinking fast. "Just some social engagements."

Silence again. "You mean a party, don't you Will?"

"Yes."

She sounded irritated. "You can say that, you know. It's not a dirty word."

"Yes, but-"

"I know. We both know. What difference does that make?" Will swallowed at the note of desolation in his sister's voice, his heart turning to ice in his chest.

"Georgie-Pie?"

She laughed, and the lump of ice in his chest thawed somewhat. "You haven't called me that in years."

"You'll always be my little sister, Georgiana Darcy."

"Yes I will, William Darcy. Glad we've sorted that out." She sounded merely exasperated now, and he could breathe easily again.

"Speak later?"

"Yep." A pause. "Try and have fun tonight, okay? Don't just stand there like you've got a poker up your-

"Bye Georgie," he said firmly, hanging up.

Momentarily at a loss for something to occupy himself, he walked to the low wall separating the driveway from the extensive lawns, gazing out towards the farm buildings he had spotted on arrival. Bingley had set off there this morning, ostensibly to ensure that the party invitation had arrived, but both knew his real reason had more to to with the famous Miss Bennets.

Will had tactfully refrained from saying anything, but knew the signs well. First the home, then the fling. His lips twitched in amusement. Bingley may be talking of setting down roots, but he was still a romantic at heart. Will himself felt no such inclination.

Since he had inherited the reins at Pemberley Investment, he had little time or inclination to pursue romantic involvements. The few attempts he had made in those early months had ended in disaster, as he soon realised that the women were far more interested in his bank balance than himself. This included, much to his and Bingley's chagrin, Caroline Bingley, who had somehow confused a drunken kiss whilst still at university with a desire to settle down and procreate. Over the years, her increasingly obvious attentions had been a source of embarrassment for both men.

No, he thought, turning his back on the pleasing view, his aunt had it all wrong. In his case, a single man in possession of a large fortune was _not_ in want of a wife. He had much more important things to do with his time. Not, he added mentally, that there was much chance of finding a suitable candidate in the vicinity. The pressures and expectations involved in being a wife to a FTSE 100 company CEO were not for the fainthearted.

Indeed most of his peers had selected their wives from a tightly constrained pool of women whose personal wealth meant that they could enter the marriage state on an equal financial footing, thus avoiding any accusations of fortune hunting.

He considered what Georgie would make of him using the term 'marriage state', and laughed quietly, wondering what she was doing right now. Considering the humiliating defeat he had suffered at tennis last week, she was probably sharpening up that wicked serve of hers. He rubbed his shoulder ruefully - it had only just stopped aching - and decided to go for a run.

Walking back towards the house, he prodded his stomach experimentally. Despite what Georgie said, it was _not_ flabby, he decided.

Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't tone up still further in preparation for their rematch. When one was playing against an extremely fit sixteen year-old, it paid to make preparations.

Half an hour later saw him jogging steadily along the lanes of the Netherfield estate. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, but it felt good to get out in the crisp autumn air and pound out some of his tension into the tarmac. It also served to remind him how much he missed the old routine.

Perhaps Georgie had a point - he had been spending too much time working in the library. Entirely too much, judging by the dull ache in his side.

Up ahead the lane was swelled by another path adjoining it, and as he rounded the curve he saw that he was not the only person indulging in morning exercise. Another runner had evidently joined from the path and was drawing steadily away from him. Rising to the challenge, he gritted his teeth and increased his pace, slowly narrowing the gap.

As he got closer, he could see the other runner was a woman. Judging from the effortless pace she was maintaining, as well as her rather shapely legs, she was in excellent shape and he was hard pressed to keep up in his current rusty state.

Almost as if she could feel his gaze, she looked over her shoulder and caught sight of him. Her long dark hair swung in a ponytail, obscuring her features, but he distinctly saw a challenging smile spread across her face, before she turned her attention to the road ahead, increasing the pace still further.

Trying to ignore the burning in his lungs - could one's heart actually explode, he wondered - he matched her pace, striving to draw alongside her. Come on Darcy, he chided himself. Back in the day you could run like this easily. Just as he got close enough to be able to catch a glimpse of her face, she glanced over, locking eyes with him.

Her dark, lively eyes sparkled with amusement, and he barely had time to take in her features before she looked away, and _ran_. With fleet-footed ease she outdistanced him and sped off down the lane, ponytail swinging rhythmically behind her.

Gasping, he slowed to a walk, bending over to ease his sufferings. He looked up, admiring the woman's slender form and those damnably shapely legs as they effortlessly carried her over a rise in the road and out of sight. The last he saw of her was that ponytail waving a cheery goodbye, and she was gone.

Coughing, he turned back towards what he hoped was Netherfield Hall, and eased himself into a much slower jog than before. Clearly these country girls knew a thing or two about running. He couldn't help a smile creasing his lips as he remembered those remarkably direct, sparkling eyes, and wished he had seen her face more clearly.

Still, he consoled himself, it was of little consequence. He was here to support Bingley and give his sister some space to continue her recovery. The local flora and fauna were of little importance to him.

The challenge in her eyes, was another matter, and he resolved right then to continue his run every morning during his stay.

He wasn't his father's son for nothing, after all. Pride must be satisfied.


End file.
